


The Feeling's Mutual

by robobumps



Series: Kinktober 2019 Fics [1]
Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Desk Sex, Hatesex, Kinktober 2019, M/M, Optimus Makes Bad Choices, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-24 18:16:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21342595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robobumps/pseuds/robobumps
Summary: Old habits die hard, Optimus guesses.
Relationships: Optimus Prime/Sentinel Prime
Series: Kinktober 2019 Fics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1538587
Comments: 3
Kudos: 52





	The Feeling's Mutual

**Author's Note:**

> For Kinktober 2019's Day 1 prompt: Hate-fucking/angry sex.
> 
> Check out my tumblr @robobumps for more content.

There was a time, once, when the two of them in this compromising position would have been something deeply thrilling for Optimus. Preferably over a berth, with Elita watching from her seat in the corner and gripping her spike, but you can’t always get what you want. Optimus was going to have to make do with the fact that that was then, and this was now, and Sentinel had him crowded against his desk, grinding against him like he’d die if he didn’t, moaning low into his audial. He was slowly but steadily being leaned backwards, and any moment now Sentinel would- yep, there it was.

“Get your servo off my aft,” Optimus hissed as he felt himself be groped. Sentinel, leering, didn’t seem perturbed.

“Just helping you out, _Optimus,”_ he replied with equal disdain. The servo on his aft lifted him upwards, then deposited him on the edge of the desk, where Sentinel took advantage of Optimus’s moment of surprise and pressed him down until his back was flat against the surface. Something that might have been a datapad made a worrying crunch.

The two stared at each other for a moment. Optimus’s servos were on Sentinel’s chestplate, framing the huge Elite Guard symbol emblazoned on it; Sentinel’s servos were splayed wide on the table on either side of Optimus’s shoulders. Optimus frowned at the position. Sentinel’s smarm strengthened along with his smirk.

By the Allspark, Optimus hated Sentinel. For a lot of reasons, but today what topped the list was that he hated the way he was so easily able to get him here. Hated the molten heat that suffused him whenever Sentinel rolled his hips just right. Hated his broad shoulders, hated his stupid fragging face. Hated the way that every line of code sang for joy when he heard a panel transforming away and looked past his chest to see Sentinel’s spike dripping prefluid onto his plating. Sentinel ground it against Optimus’s still-closed panel, groaning at the feeling. It wasn’t too bad on the other end, either. Optimus shuttered his optics and his vocalizer clicked with the effort to keep a moan in. Didn’t need Sentinel knowing how good his hot spike pressing firm against his panel felt.

Sentinel grasped at Optimus’s servos still on his chest and directed them downwards on either side of his helm to hold them fast against the desk. Of course he did, the control freak. Optimus set his jaw and stared him right in the optics, sparking another wave of muddled anger. He really hated this mech. And of course Sentinel wouldn’t stop smirking at him, smugness radiating off of him as another drop of prefluid dripped onto his plating. Optimus’s annoyance peaked. “Stop,” he growled.

Sentinel’s shoulders lowered. He frowned at him, but he released Optimus’s wrists and took a step away. His spike jutted away from his body with a kind of buoyant pride that was totally at odds with the petulant look on his face. Optimus laid there for a moment, vents going a mile a minute. He lifted himself up on one elbow-joint, glaring at Sentinel who returned the favor, cocking his head and crossing his arms.

“What, did that organic planet suck all the fun out of you?” he asked, scoffing.

“I _meant_ stop _smirking,_ but…”

Sentinel didn’t answer, but rolled his optics. Optimus suddenly took into consideration the position he was in. Sentinel was away from him and Optimus was lying there on the desk revved to the Pit, yes, but free to go. He had a definite choice in the matter. Leave the smarmy aft to deal with his charge, or keep going, and let Sentinel at him against his better judgement.

Optimus let out a beleaguered sigh and thunked his helm on the metal of the desk. Damn his judgement.

He twisted around to lay his front against the desk, tilted up his hips, laid his servos on either side of his helm, and then finally transformed his valve panel away, practically — no, not practically, he really was doing it, no downplay — presenting himself to the menace behind him.

“This way. I don’t have to see your fragging chin like this,” he mumbled, almost too quiet to be heard above his roaring fans.

Almost. Optimus heard Sentinel step forward, and then felt a servo inexpertly trace around his slick valve. “No complaints from me,” Sentinel said, sliding a servo inside him. Optimus couldn’t tamp down the warble his vocalizer made to prevent Sentinel from having the satisfaction. Warm pleasure at the way the servo nudged against his overheated mesh rolled through him. Sentinel’s next words were that much more smug. “The back of your helm’s much prettier, anyways.” Optimus’s servos scrabbled against the desk as another exploratory servo pushed in, then another, scissoring outwards, making Optimus bite his derma.

It took a klik or two of this torture before Sentinel’s servos encircled his wrist joints and held him firm to the desk. The delicious heat against his valve was removed, sparking a mote of disappointment, but Optimus’s optics fritzed when he felt the blunt, blazing-hot pressure of Sentinel’s spike nudge at his entrance, then ever-so-slowly push inwards, working him open.

The pressure increased as Sentinel’s spike speared him further, and Optimus’s venting came hard. A solid mass came down to cover his back, pressing him completely to the metal surface below him. He wriggled around, pinned.

“Don’t worry, little repair-bot,” Sentinel murmured gamely next to his helm. “I’ve got you right where you want- where you _need_ to be.”

Optimus slammed his face against the desk and turned off his audials.


End file.
